


Weeds and Cherry Trees (Lo Que la Primavera Hace con los Cerezos)

by wtvoc



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: PWP, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-27
Updated: 2014-10-27
Packaged: 2018-02-22 22:27:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2523977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wtvoc/pseuds/wtvoc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(fic is in English) All Emma needs after a long day is a relaxed and relaxing pirate. This story contains sex, drugs, and Pablo Neruda. Facesitting prompt from tumblr user elaric.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Weeds and Cherry Trees (Lo Que la Primavera Hace con los Cerezos)

**Author's Note:**

> there be drugs smoked in this story and also poetry; forewarned is forearmed

“Ugh, what a stupid day,” Emma said, groaning as she flopped down on the couch. “Where's the kid?”

“Babysitting. I offered our services to your parents, but your father said something about you having a rather difficult go of it today. Everything all right, love?” Killian emerged from the kitchen with two tumblers full of brown liquid, making Emma smile, wide and full. It had been weeks since she'd finally gotten her own place, and even though he still theoretically had a room at Granny's, well. As she told a blushing Elsa, if you had  _that_ , would  _you_ let it sleep alone?

“Thank you,” she said gratefully, taking the glass and knocking half the thing back with one practiced flick of her wrist. He chuckled as he sat next to her, settling in with his arm around her shoulder. It was so normal, so domestic, and it felt right. As it turns out, home and him suited her just fine.

She settled into his side, lying back so that her neck rested on his arm, but before she could get comfortable, she noticed she was sitting on something lumpy. Emma sighed and made a face as she realized she still hadn't dumped out the contents of her pockets. Heaving forward, she stood, reaching around behind her to pull out her phone, a couple folded five dollar bills, a speckled glass pipe, some Zig-Zags, and a baggie. She looked at it all, giving a dry laugh before chucking everything on the table. How she'd forgotten all that was in her pockets was beyond her, but then again, it had been a trying day.

“What's that, then?”

“Contraband. I forgot to log it in, but oh well. I pulled it outta that little shit Gordie's sweatshirt when I caught him keying Leroy's van.” Emma sighed fondly. She'd take stupid mischievous miscreants over curses any day.

“Lost Boys still giving trouble, eh? Do you wish for me to put the fear of Hook into them?”

“I'd really prefer you do that to me.”

“Really?” he murmured, and she heard it, the moment he turned into the lusty pirate. Her favorite part of the day.

He tugged at the waistband of her jeans and she allowed herself to fall back, landing somewhat gracelessly on his legs. He sat up and wrapped his arms around her, one hand on her knee and the curve of his hook pressing into her thigh. She almost fell over when he started kissing her neck. The stress of the day made her wild for his touch; he was pressing into her muscles with his hand, kneading and easing her tension, like—how did he know just where to touch her every time? It felt so good— _he_ felt so good that she felt herself relaxing into him.

“ _Ah_ ,” she gasped when he pressed into a particularly sore muscle, falling forward, knowing he'd steady her, but her movement made her kick out a little, knocking shit off the coffee table.

“Damn,” she laughed, leaning forward to pick up her phone and the little baggie of stuff (and to taunt him with her bending over, of course). As she eyed the bag, her mind wandered into an old memory, forgotten until just now—the first time she'd come in contact with marijuana. One of the few friends she made as a teenager, introducing her to new and exciting ways to be a delinquent.

She also remembered the side effects of that first time she hot boxed, and her mind turned thoughtful. And dirty.

“What is that, love? It looks like exotic spices.”

“You could say that.” She stood and held the bag out to him, raising her eyebrow as he held it up in front of his face in concentration. “Do you guys have drugs in other realms?”

“Like medicinals?”

“Mm, well. I mean more like... stuff that makes you feel good.” The slight furrow in his brow cleared, making way for a look of dawning comprehension that turned speculative pirate.

“Ah, yes. Mind-altering weeds, you mean?”

“Yeah,” she laughed. “That's one nickname for it.” He held the bag out for inspection again, turning his head this way and that as she stood in front of him, her hands on her hips.

“I presume you smoke it. Ah, that's what this is for?” He reached over for the pipe, his body near hers, his face brushing her breasts purposefully. As he sat back he smirked at her, the perusal in his eyes almost casual, if she didn't know him so well. He was eye-touching her, and he was doing it so that she'd see it.

He tapped the pipe on her belly and smiled thoughtfully. “Is it one that relaxes or one that excites?”

“For me? Both.” A broad grin lit up his face.

“Fascinating.” He stood up. “Right, then. Shall we?”

“What, get stoned?”

“Such delightful expressions in this world,” he murmured, stepping closer until they were millimeters apart. “Tell me, Sheriff. Is this weed  _very_  illegal?”

“Mm hmm.”

His voice was deeper, practically vibrating through her chest as he spoke. “And if a degenerate pirate such as myself smoked it, would the constabulary feel obligated to arrest him?”

“I can cuff you, if that's what you're asking.” Without touching her, he shifted closer, his mouth at her ear.

“That a promise, love?”

Her response was barely above a whisper. “No.”

“No?” He stepped back, a look of adorable confusion on his face. Emma reached down and plucked the pipe from his hand; tapping him in the chest with it, she smiled.

“I'm no hypocrite. Come on, degenerate pirate. Let the Savior show you how to blaze up.” As she spoke his smile returned; it broadened when she held out her other hand and he slapped the bag of weed into it. He smirked when she returned the smile, then cocked his one surly eyebrow.

“I'm quite certain I know how to smoke a pipe, love.”

“Me, too,” she retorted, raking her gaze down his body. “That's an expression for—“

“I can read between the lines. And yes, Swan. Yes, you certainly can.” He used his tongue to tap on his teeth and she had to laugh. Sometimes his banter was so cheesy, but she had to say. It worked.

With a gesture, she bade him sit on the couch while she walked over and opened a window. Then she scampered over to the kitchen, turning the exhaust vent on over the stove. She could just imagine David's face if he walked in and smelled piney, skunky smoke residue hanging around in her place for days. She returned to the couch, seating herself right next to the pirate with the expectant look on his face.

There were a couple of pre-rolled joints in the baggie so she handed him one figuring it would be easier for him, but she decided to keep the pipe for herself. She wasn't even sure about the quality of the stuff, but she was pretty sure she didn't care. Opening the bag wide, she stuck her nose in and smelled it.

“Wow. Pretty sticky.”

“Sticky?” Killian took the bag and peered inside, giving it his own sniff. “It's... purple. And smells of the forest.”

“Yep. I'm no expert, but those are probably good things.” Emma felt a little awkward. It had been a while since she'd smoked pot, but some things just come back to you. As Killian pinched a bit and raised it to his face to look, Emma cleaned the pipe lip off with the cuff of her sleeve, blowing through it and dipping her pinky into the bowl.

“Shoot, I need a lighter,” she muttered, looking around for one to magically appear. Could she magic one from the kitchen? Then one appeared right under her nose.

“Best thing this realm has, love. Portable fire. And those Kit Kat bars.”

“Yeah, wait'll you get the munchies and I bust out the Cheez-its.” Emma took the pink Bic and did her best to scrape out the bowl, wishing for one of those cheap-o skinny lighters you found in 7/11s. She wanted to make the experience as good as she could for the guy. If you're going to commit a misdemeanor, might as well go all out, right?

“Give 'er 'ere, love.” Emma looked over at Killian, his hand outstretched and a look of impatience on his face. He raised his brows when she made a skeptical face. “I know what I'm about. The substance may differ, but the act is the same; I have gotten high many a time. If we ever find ourselves in Neverland again, I'll introduce you to the Horned Snapweed.” Suppressing a laugh threatening to bubble out, Emma handed the bag over and watched with fascination as Killian poked through the weed, the bag balanced on one knee. He let out a soft, “ah,” as he found a choice piece, she guessed. He did, indeed, seem to know what he was doing.

“Hold that out, love,” he said, chucking his chin at the pipe, and she obliged. He carefully lifted a bud and dropped it right in the bowl. He sprinkled some smaller pieces over that and tapped on it gently with the tip of his ring finger, humming what she was pretty sure was a Sublime song under his breath.

“There,” he said proudly, carefully taking the pipe to inspect his handiwork before handing it back. He pinched the joint she'd handed him and stuck it on his lip; it bobbed around as he spoke. “I'll make do with this.”

Never taking her eyes off him, she took the lighter in her right hand. Letting out a long breath before lifting the pipe to her lips, she pressed her thumb over the air hole. She flipped her other wrist and flicked the lighter, inhaling big and deep. Keeping it in just as she'd always done back when she was a stupid kid trying to impress a hot boy ( _what's changed_ , she asked herself), she handed Killian the lighter, leaning back with eyes closed before releasing the smoke in a steady plume toward the ceiling.

She heard the experimental clicks of the lighter and her eyes shot open, realizing she didn't want to miss this one. Killian's head was tilted, the joint just hanging off his lip until he closed his mouth around it with the successful snap of fire; he brought the flame closer, his eyes trained on it as he took a deep pull, then brought the smoldering joint down and rested his hand on his knee. He closed his eyes, leaning back into the couch and allowing the smoke to escape all at once. Mesmerized, Emma shook her head a little and decided to focus on feeling; the waiting for sensation to hit, the sharp tang of sticky herbal smoke filtering through and around them. The warmth of his leg against hers, the dip in the cushion next to her as he shifted. Deciding not to wait until it hit, she lifted the pipe to her lips once again and groped around for the lighter.

“Allow me,” he murmured. He leaned forward and balanced his own joint over the edge of the table before returning to the couch. Emma pursed her lips around the cool glass tip and covered the air hole again. She held the pipe in place as Killian got to his knees beside her, reaching over and carefully flicking the lighter in place.

She watched him watch her as she inhaled; he was looking at her mouth, his lips parted and his eyes hooded. She finished the hit and closed her mouth, nodding for him to take it. As she released the smoke he took the pipe from her, carefully laying the still smoldering thing on the book he had been reading for days so that the small wisps of leftover smoke filtered straight up. Then he grabbed his joint and settled back into the couch next to her.

“Allow me,” she intoned seriously, trying not to giggle. She could feel it now, the tendrils of awareness filtering through her blood and brain. She shifted up and straddled his lap, pushing at his shoulders until he was leaning all the way back into the couch, his eyes heavy and raking her over as she plucked the joint from his fingers and held it to her lips.

“You wanna shotgun it?”

“I don't know what that means, but you but you arse I do,” he said with a grin, winking at her, slow and lazy. Emma held the thing to her mouth and took a deep pull, leaning forward until her lips were pressed to his and  _shit_ , he was hard, she felt it the minute their hips and lips touched. She blew the smoke into his mouth and only pulled away slightly, both their eyes open as he held it in. Leaning back to let him blow the smoke away, she was struck by his chest, how much he could take in. His first time smoking marijuana, and he already made it look like he'd been at it for years, Horned Snapweed notwithstanding. As he released his breath with a slow burst of billowing smoke she smiled, big and full, wanting to trace her fingers along his own lazy grin, feel the soft Killian mouth under her touch, dip her fingertips into that slight indentation in the middle of his bottom lip, the one she could suck on for hours.

Oh, man. Emma had forgotten what it felt like. The languid awareness. The way everything seemed so slow, so hyper-focused. So  _relaxed_. All her limbs loosened, her muscles buzzing with a low hum. And... her magic, a new tingle or maybe  _enhanced_  tingle was a better way to put it but what _ever_ , she felt it, that aroused sensation beginning, insistent and pulsing. Yeah, pot made her horny. And from the looks of it, he was feeling it, too.

She shifted her hips with purpose, biting her lip when his eyes narrowed to mere slits. He took the joint and huffed at it a little bit before sitting up. Putting his hook at her back he leaned forward; she had to grab his shoulders to keep from falling as he snuffed the joint out into the bowl of the pipe.

“Wasting pot like that could get you blacklisted in some circles,” she said deliberately, her words rolling around the room and in her mouth and brain.

“I don't give a fuck, love.” He stood up and her legs fell away, but his arm was still slung around her. “Let's to the bedroom. I can see filth in your eyes.”

“I can see filth in  _your_  eyes,” she scoffed, laughing lightly, and her laughter sounded like bouncing echoes as she let him take her hand and lead her the short walk down the hall.

“There is  _always_  filth in my eyes, Swan,” he said, pulling her into him. They stopped just short of the bed, their breathing slow and easy as they looked at each other. It was still new with them, but at the same time and especially in that moment, Emma felt like they had done this a hundred times. She was so warm and comfortable and he was so wonderful that she wanted to touch him everywhere and to be touched everywhere.

“This weed is magnificent,” he murmured, pulling her in and stroking her hair, his hand coming around to cup her face. His thumb ran over her ear and she leaned into the touch, greedy for his skin on her skin. She closed her eyes and lifted her face toward him, knowing he would kiss her. He was always kissing her—the man  _loved_  kissing her. And was he good at it.

She was getting overloaded with sensations—the press of his mouth, hot and lazy, his tongue sweeping slowly over hers over and over, his lips closing around her bottom lip, sucking it in and worrying his jaw back and forth until he let go. Her blood was simmering slow and low, her magic seeming to enjoy the drugs flowing through her body. She was tingling all over and as she felt his hand start to drift toward her breast, she was suddenly very, terribly impatient to feel his body on hers. As he cupped the curve of her, his thumb moving maddeningly slow, or so it seemed—her reaction time was behind her thoughts—she decided to move things along.

Moving away from him, she ripped out of her shirt, unclasped her bra, and slipped out of her pants. Then she flopped down on the bed, raising herself to her elbows to look at him with her brow arched on high. He looked at her a moment, his lids dropping down to mere slits, his neck moving as he raked her over from head to toe.

“You make me wish I was a poet, love,” he said, and she knew the grit in his voice was probably because of the pot but damn, was it hot. “I've been reading a good one lately. Do you wish to hear it?” Without waiting for her nod of approval, he started to speak, the silken lilt in his voice making her nerves thrum with excited appreciation.

“How you must have suffered getting accustomed to me, my savage, solitary soul, my name that sends them all running.” He never broke his gaze from hers, the blue intensity searing through her.

“So many times we have seen the morning star burn, kissing our eyes, and over our heads the gray light unwind in turning fans.” He shrugged out of his vest and flicked open the button on the cuff of his long-sleeved shirt, still maintaining that eye contact.

“My words rained over you, stroking you.” He rolled the cuff over his brace.

“A long time I have loved the sunned mother-of-pearl of your body.” With a curl of his lip, he lifted his wrist to his mouth, pulled at it with his teeth, impatiently tugging until it was up around his elbow.

“I go so far as to think that you own the universe.” He leaned over and slung his arm under her knees, pulling her forward until her legs dangled off the edge of the mattress.

“I will bring you happy flowers from the mountains, bluebells, dark hazels, and rustic baskets of kisses.” His voice dropped lower, still full of rasp and grit as he knelt down between her legs. His head tilted this way and that, his eyes finally breaking contact with hers and caressing down her body until it reached the cotton-covered apex of her thighs.

“I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees.”

As he started to lean down, she spared a vague, floaty thought that he  _would_  memorize poetry to seduce the already seduced, but then his mouth was there and open and right over her underwear. She gasped and he chuckled, his hot exhale going right through the thin fabric. Little tendrils of sensation licked through her again, beginning where the pirate was now actively nuzzling and going in her, through her, around her. Everything was sharper but lazy, and as she registered that he was gently biting her through her damned underwear, her body bucked, pressing herself right into his face.

He laughed darkly, his mouth still on her. Without realizing it she'd closed her eyes, so when she looked down it was to see those unreal blues and all their intensity staring at her hard. He looked fucking indecent down there, his mouth spread so wide she could see his teeth. Keeping the eye contact, he arched a brow and lowered his jaw so that his teeth were really down there, then he winked and slowly scraped them up.

“Fuck,” she breathed. “Holy fucking shit, Killian.” She gasped loud;  _oh_. He finally released her and licked his lips, this utterly smug smirk lifting half his mouth.

“You are—“ she began, but he dove back down and this time oh god ohgodoh _god_  he was sucking on her clit through her underwear and goddammit god _dammit_  look at that  _smirk_ , how are you smirking when your mouth is so busy, shut up shut up shut  _up_  I will sit on your face, I will sit on that smirk to shut you up and—

He stopped.

“Did you just say you want to sit on my face, love?” Emma was muddled, confused, her reaction time still delayed. Did she say that out loud? Whatever, fuck it. Hell yeah, she did. She'd never done that before, but if you're gonna try new things, well. Just  _look_  at the guy.

“Hell yeah, I do.”

“Well then,” he murmured, sounding impressed. There was a darker, lustier note to his voice, and how was it possible to get more turned on than she already was?

He stood, regarding her thoughtfully. He shrugged out of his shirt and then unbuckled his pants but left them on. Putting one knee on the bed, he nudged her with it and she rolled over, watching as he crawled up next to her. He kissed her hair and kept going, pitching pillows off the side of the bed and finally lying down.

Emma took a deep breath. She rose to her knees slowly, carefully. She felt drunk ( _stoned_ , her hazy mind corrected), like every nerve in her body was focused and lazy and standing at attention, keen for this new sensation. She bit her lip and looked at him lying there, all pants unbuckled and lean, sinewy lines in his arms and torso. She hooked her thumbs on either side of her hips, ready to lower her underwear when he reached out with his hook and stayed her movements.

“Keep them on.” There was a tone of command, somewhat menacing and very purposeful. Emma tried swallowing but her mouth was dry, so she settled for sucking in her bottom lip. The motion seemed to mesmerize him.

“Up here, then, love,” he said, tapping his chest and fixing her with that intense blue stare. She met his eyes and when he looked at her, it was like her nerves flared to life again and when mixed with the easy, lazy sway of her limbs made for one hell of a good feeling.

Emma turned and got on hands and knees, grinning as she crawled up to him. She paused to lean over and press her mouth just below his navel, grinning into his warm skin and soft hair as he jolted beneath her. She was very aware of his cock poking out of the splayed-open zipper, and as she rubbed her face up his torso, she realized she'd have a chance to play with him as she sat and... did what she was about to do. Her mind went wild with the possibilities of the position as she got on her knees, her eyes now fixed on his face, his heated stare fixed on the black cotton underwear covering her.

“Permission to come aboard, princess,” he said, cocking one side of his mouth in that lusty leer. Her eyes narrowed; seriously, stupid pirate with that stupid mouth.

“This princess is going to shut you up now,” Emma drawled. Biting her lip, she swung one leg over his chest, settling so that her knees were on either side of his head. She closed her eyes and arched back slightly, waiting for him to begin. The pot was really coursing through her now, the pulsing in her veins making her periphery feel blurred and muted, all her focus going toward what was in front of her. Or underneath her. Hot breath, the soft rasp of stubble against her thighs.  _Oh Jesus_. He rubbed his face on her legs, his nose teasing at the crease between thigh and pelvis and she threw her shoulders back at the sensation. Putting his hand on the outside of her thigh, he brought his other arm over, his hook sliding underneath the black fabric of her underwear.

She was gasping, trying to focus but then she felt metal sliding down, the blunt curve of his hook gliding over her slick skin. Her thigh muscles tensed as she arched her hips, trying to give him more room, inadvertently knocking the pointed tip of his hook into her own skin. The sharp pierce made her hiss as the feeling of the the delicious sting combined with the cool glide over her wet flesh.

He moved his hook away, the fabric of her underwear catching as he pulled it aside. He murmured muffled words into her thigh, his teeth closing over the flesh in an open-mouthed bite. He soothed the skin with his tongue then dragged it over and over and god, right on her, she rocked on him and over him and it was too much, too fucking much and he hadn't even really done anything yet but  _oh_ , his tongue was inside her and she pressed down on it, rocking her hips forward, fucking his tongue with quick little jerks, these whimpering noises escaping her mouth but then it was gone and up and oh, oh  _god_ , yes  _yes_ ,  _ah_. Lips closing around her clit, sucking and sucking and slight little wiggles of his tongue as she moved and she couldn't help it, she ground down and back and down and back, a little faster and fuck jesus goddamn  _yes_. Yes. Yes.

“Yes,” she whispered, helpless and good, so so good. She was languid, she was floating; she was falling back. Steadying her hand behind her and rocking forward.

She felt crisp hair beneath her fingertips and realized she was balancing herself on his abdomen, her back arched and to the side, pelvis moving in tight little circles over his face. His goddamned face, his goddamned beard scratching little prickles of sensation as he sucked and then licked and the sounds were so decadent and filthy and he was groaning a little with each sway of her hips so she decided to make him groan for other reasons and her fingers crept along until his cock was in her hand and she felt his fingers squeeze her thigh and a louder muffled moan vibrated against her clit,  _jesus._  “Killian,” she breathed, hips bucking and he sucked so hard she could feel her flesh scrape against his teeth and  _god_ , “God,” she grasped his cock in her hand and squeezed, too hard, make him moan again, he moaned and it vibrated and she could feel the fluttering and she smiled this shit-eating, happiest of grins as she rode his fucking face harder, the movements of her hips dictating the jerking of her wrist and she could feel her palm getting moist from him, he was going to come and she was definitely going to come come come oh, oh oh oh  _fuck_ .

“Fuck,” she gasped. His hips bucked and his cock fell from her hand which was good because  _good god_ , she lurched forward and almost fell over. Dazed, she paused a moment to recapture her balance but no, god no, she scrambled backward and he was confused, his mouth open and glistening, his hair so mussed and his face so wrecked she wanted to die from the sight.

“Love, you didn't—“

“Shut up,” she breathed, brushing her hair from her face, “and fuck me.”

“Yeah, all right,” he breathed, his mouth hanging open. “How do you want it?”

“You pick,” she said, still breathing hard. “That was outstanding. You fucking pick, I don't even care.” His lopsided grin appeared and he smacked her ass.

“Get a pillow, love. On your stomach, and put it under you.” He scrambled up and shucked his pants as she did as she was told.

“Don't be gentle,” she told him.

“Wasn't planning on it.”

As she settled on her stomach and lifted up onto her elbows, her ass sticking up in the air, she felt him come up behind her, fingers and hook trailing up the backs of her legs. His knees nudged at her inner thighs until she spread them open a bit. He carefully put hand and hook under her hips and lifted until she was just so, then she felt the cool metal brush up her spine and move her hair to the side. She leaned on her left elbow and looked over her shoulder at him; he was there on his knees, the base of his cock in his hand, moving up and down with a slight, smooth motion as he stared back with that dark, hooded look, his mouth slightly open.

Then he was leaning down and she fell forward, her forehead pressing into the mattress because god, his cock was pressing into her until just the head was there, but he was still holding it and he brushed it down, the tip of it nudging at her very swollen clit, rubbing almost to the point of pain but then back up and she shifted her hips back until she felt herself open wider in invitation and just do it, god, just fucking  _fuck_  me already, and maybe she said that out loud, too, but the vibrato in her blood was singing and her magic was buzzing and he was inside and so thick and full and fucking  _dammit_ , go faster go faster no no, right there, “there,” she was gasping and it was there again and the soft flutter of sensation turned rampant when he kept pressing in, his hand on her hip, squeezing and then the sharp sting of a smack on her thigh, the grasping of fingers into her flesh, kneading and needing and she needed him to go harder, “god, harder,” and it started, that tingle, that lick of sensation curling in her blood and pelvis.

And then she was falling, her face into the mattress, her elbows giving but her thighs tensing and his movements got sloppy and fast and jerking in and out and out and in and “Emma,” he was gasping and gasping and her mouth was hot; deep, heavy gasps into the mattress as she called out and out and he was in and deep and shuddering as she squeezed and tensed around him and then fell, fell hard and she paused as the world paused and waited for the soaring, the high and  _ah_  and oh, oh  _yes_ .

_Yes_ .

_Yes_ .

She felt herself come down, she felt herself still, she felt herself unable to move as he continued rutting into her, slow and small and smooth, bringing them both down, easing himself and herself as she jerked at the too much, at the overstimulation. She was a mess; a wonderful, sloppy mess. She'd never felt quite this... just  _done_ , this  _relaxed_ . She wanted to move but the  _effort_ ,  _god_ . She simply let go, her hips falling onto the pillow still wedged under her, her face still pressed into the comforter.

Killian eased up and out, and she felt him stagger a little as he gingerly tried to extract himself from between her legs before flopping down next to her. She started laughing, the fabric under and kind of in her mouth making her laugh harder. God, she felt so  _good_ .

She could hear him breathing heavy next to her, hot puffs of air moving her hair a little. Finally able to muster up the will to move, she turned her head so that she could see him through the shadowy mess of blonde.

“Hey,” she breathed, trying not to laugh because she just felt so damned giddy and she didn't know if it was the pot or the sex or what. “I finally figured out how to stop that mouth of yours.” It was a little too dark for her to see his eyes, but his teeth flashed and the bed shook as he laughed.

“Aye, that you did,” he said. “Feel free to shut me up whenever you deem it necessary.” He edged toward her, seeming as unwilling to move as she was. He nuzzled along the bed until his nose brushed hers, and she could tell his face was still messy and sloppy and glorious.

“Do you suppose you could confiscate more of that weed in the future?”

“Aye,” she replied, biting her lip as he threw his head back and laughed with delight.  _Idiot_ .

**Author's Note:**

> i'd apologize to pablo neruda but he might not have minded so much probably-maybe. come say hi or yell at me on tumblr: this-too-too-sullied-flesh, and thank you for reading this! -wtvoc


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